


Semper Fidelis, Ray Doyle

by Rozel



Category: The Professionals
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:08:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozel/pseuds/Rozel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a direct follow on from Gracie where Ray Doyle has the time to put his thoughts in order in a way that will rock his world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semper Fidelis, Ray Doyle

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Karen L for her input in the beach conversation section between Bodie/Doyle. Her ideas and dialogue made it work better than it did. Much appreciated

Usual Disclaimer  
I don’t own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.  
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

SEMPER FIDELIS, RAY DOYLE

The Solent was a sparkling blue in the morning light. Small waves crested the surface, racing each other to die a death on the deserted beach. Ray Doyle sat on the small patio outside the studio flat, nursing a large mug of tea and wondered for the hundredth time exactly what he was doing.

His return to work following his recovery from Weil’s Disease had been hard. Doyle recalled his boss’s kindly yet firm words. 

‘You’re on leave for two weeks 4.5.’ Cowley raised a hand to stop the expected outburst. He was surprised at Doyle’s acquiescence. ‘You’ve made excellent progress since your return but even I can’t ignore the reports from Bryan Macklin. Your fitness is almost back to normal, but almost isn’t good enough.’ 

Doyle went to protest, but Cowley forestalled him. ‘You can barely keep awake, man. Oh, you’re fine in the field, according to Bodie, but you’ve been doing the simple stuff... observations, information gathering... face it 4.5, your reserves just aren’t there.’ Doyle stared glumly at the head of CI5. 

‘I do get tired,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m looking after myself sir. Regular meals and no late nights.’ His poor attempt at lightening the mood failed miserably. 

Cowley put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Two weeks 4.5. then a reassessment...’

Doyle found a studio holiday flat that suited him down to the ground. Small, open plan and ultra modern, it was in Norton, far enough away from Yarmouth and the ferry terminal, yet near enough to walk along the beach to the shops. He’d spent a holiday there as a small boy and loved the quietness of the place.

He stood up and stared at his reflection in the full length glass door. The image that looked back was a pale, thin version of himself. Despite eating as much as Bodie on a good day, Doyle reflected morosely, his ribs still stuck out in stark relief, and his collar bones jutted out as fashionably as a catwalk model.

The enforced rest would have been ideal, he ruminated, if Grace was there. However, her swift recall to Milan to help with some research had brought their planned reunion to a halt. 

He replayed the tearful conversation the morning of the planned picnic.

‘Ray, I’ve been asked to go back to Milan for a couple of weeks. It’s urgent. Mr Avalli wants me to look at some guidelines for him. I really owe him this – he’s helped me so much... but I don’t want to go!’ She broke down in tears, and Doyle thought he might too.

‘It’s only for a couple of weeks,’ he mumbled, working to keep the disappointment from his voice. ‘Just get back before the summer ends – picnics aren’t the same when it’s cold.’

The fortnight had turned into a month, and the summer burned itself out. September was cool and overcast matching exactly how Doyle felt. The imposition of the holiday was the last straw. Doyle had left with bad grace and a small suitcase. 

Bodie reacted with his usual bonhomie. ‘Two weeks, you lucky bugger. The rest of us will just have to hold the fort. I’ll be surprised if CI5 doesn’t completely shut down without you to show us how it’s done.’ The cheeky grin was lost on Doyle. Not even his favourite ‘fuck off’ was uttered.

Bodie sensed that the holiday was not at all what his friend wanted. In fact, he didn’t know what was going on in Doyle’s head any more. The stay in hospital, Doyle in his own twilight world, and the subsequent convalescence had robbed his friend of something – Bodie just wasn’t sure what.

Once Doyle arrived on the Isle of Wight, the weather had improved. Temperatures rose and England basked in an Indian summer. The island was quiet, the holiday season all but over. Doyle soon fell into a routine; a morning swim in the the quiet bay outside the flat, the sea holding on to the summer’s heat; he read avidly and often took a long walk around the area. With some wholesome food and early nights when he slept deeply and dreamlessly, he began to feel a semblance of his old self at last.

Near the end of the first week, Bodie phoned.

‘I’ve got a week off,’ he said gleefully. ‘I’m coming down to see you.’

‘No room here mate,’ replied Doyle carefully. ‘They’re called studio flats for a reason.’

Bodie harrumphed at this. ‘I won’t be alone,’ he offered. ‘Cora’s coming too. You’re not the only one who needs a rest.’

Doyle rolled his eyes as he wondered what Bodie’s definition of ‘rest’ was.

‘Well, I might see you,’ he replied. ‘I’m pretty busy at the moment.’

The silence hung between them.

Eventually Bodie spoke. ‘Pretty busy eh. With what sunshine? Refining the art of being lovelorn?’

Doyle blanched slightly and thanked the stars Bodie couldn’t read his expression.

‘Very funny mate! For your information I’m trying to raise my fitness level so I can watch your back in future. Stop you getting in trouble!’

‘Of course you are,’ came the smooth reply. ‘You just carry on working that angle, and I’ll see you sometime next week.’ Bodie rang off before Doyle could form a suitable reply.

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant if somewhat quiet manner. Doyle stepped across to the beach, where he spent a great deal of time staring into space, dozing, and thinking, with the occasional visit to the studio flat for a snack. Never the most gregarious of men, the solitude suited him, except that he was plagued by recurring thoughts of Grace. 

If truth be told, he was in a turmoil over Grace Walker. Her re-emergence into his life in such a dramatic fashion had left him breathless. He felt obligated to her for his return to health, responsible for her happiness after her declaration of her feelings, and ashamed he had not reciprocated. Being in love, and loving someone, he decided, were two completely different things. Pondering this conundrum he collected his book and towel and pulled his sweater on before crossing the walkway to the flat.

He ate outside on the patio watching the twilight washing over the Solent, while a chilly, energetic breeze picked up. Doyle looked towards Yarmouth, noting heavy dark clouds forming, a foretaste of a change in the weather. His meal over, Doyle collected his plate and mug and went inside. He shut the door and closed the curtains, before swallowing two strong painkillers to forestall a lurking headache. He ran a hot bath and stripped off his clothes.

He fell asleep in the tub, waking to the sound of driving rain and the rumble of thunder. Getting out of the tepid water, he dried his body quickly and padded into the bedroom. Without bothering to turn on a light, he climbed into bed, shivering slightly, and fell into a restless sleep, such as he’d not experienced for a while.

The storm raged and the wind picked up debris from the beach, hurling it against the pebbles. The sea smacked down on the sand as the rain rattled the windows. Several times Doyle half woke at the noise. The headache had left a dull throb behind his eyes, nothing that a decent night’s sleep won’t cure, he thought, if I can get to sleep with this noise. He promptly drifted off yet again.

The storm blew itself out in the early hours, to be replaced with a fine but chilly rain. Doyle slumbered on, catching up on his disturbed sleep. He didn’t hear the soft click of the lock as someone entered the flat.

Sometimes the unconscious part of the mind processes information independently. Doyle muttered in his sleep and reached for the bedclothes to cover his chest, He tried to pull them up to his shoulders, processing an awareness of a weight holding them back. He tugged again before giving up. It was only the soft whisper of the sheet being drawn up his naked body, and the faint aroma of Eau de Patou assailing his nose which brought him from sleep to a drowsy awareness. 

‘Grace?’

He was answered by a small sigh and the brush of lips across his neck. Two arms snaked around him, stroking his chest and fluttering downwards. He lay there embracing the quickening in his stomach and warmth spreading to his groin. Slowly he wriggled round until he was facing his gentle assailant.

Grace lay next to him, wearing only a smile. ‘Hello handsome.’

Doyle felt as though all his Christmasses had come at once. He slid his hand around her neck and pulled her to him. He kissed her slowly and deeply, taking his time, savouring her taste and her scent. She responded to his mouth, with an urgency he found both exciting and frightening, as she continued with the stroking and discovery of his body.

He broke away from her, catching his breath and holding her gaze.

‘I haven’t done this for a while,’ he began, awkwardly. ‘ I’ve been so bloody tired since having Weil’s. Can’t seem to raise any energy.’

Grace hugged him tightly. ‘Ray, it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘just take it easy. Anyway,’ she added, as his cock hardened against her body, ‘I think everything’s in working order.’

For the remaining hours of the night Doyle was at the mercy of his bed mate. Grace took charge of his body, his emotions and his senses. She teased him in ways he’d never known, with touch and taste. He lay there as she moved onto him, straddling his hips. She held his face in her cool hands and covered him in light, airy kisses, rocking herself gently as she did. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, down his thighs and over his stomach, brushing away his hands as he tried to catch her. She bent low and nibbled his bottom lip, running her tongue across his damaged tooth, before lazily nuzzling his collar bone. She spent some time at his neck, leaving evidence of her desire before moving down and tracing the line of hair from his belly downwards with a long finger. Every move he made in answer to her incessant stimulation of him, was firmly countermanded. Grace was in complete control, while Doyle was on fire, unable to quench his physical longing for her.

He felt dizzy with the effort of keeping up with her, as she moved with him, pinning his arms behind his head in an exquisite motion as she continued to rock against his groin. Her hands cupped his balls as she increased the movement, twisting and rolling herself around him. Doyle, his breath ragged, could only groan in anticipation of his approaching climax. 

At last he gave into the inevitable; thrusting against Grace’s body, he came, gasping and incoherent with desire for this woman, completely at one with her. In the heat of the moment, he was dimly aware of Grace, crying out his name as she joined him in the sexual release they both craved. 

Doyle slept afterwards, deeply and without movement. It was as if the sex has been part of the healing process for him. Grace slept too, her arm across Doyle’s chest, her fingers looped through the silver chain around his neck. 

By eight in the morning the weather had improved. Grace woke, energised and clear eyed. She glanced at the sleeping form beside her, before sliding out of bed and padding across to the kitchen area. While the kettle boiled, she hunted around for something warm to wear – Doyle’s heavy sweater fitted the bill so she slipped it on over her head. She pulled on a pair of shorts and made some coffee, carrying the mug outside to the patio. 

The sea was a blue grey, small white tops on the waves scudding across the bay. The cafe along the beach was setting up for the day, and she saw a couple hand in hand, walking along the beach, while two large dogs frolicked near them, running in and out of the shallow surf.

A door opened and closed quietly at another of the flats. Grace looked up to see Cora step across to the beach, where she folded her long legs in to the traditional lotus pose. She watched as the woman settled herself and began to chant quietly. The sound, peaceful and harmonious drifted on the light breeze drawing Grace into its sway. 

Grace sipped her coffee and sat watching the day unfurl. A low sun was struggling to make its presence felt, and a light breeze caught up yesterday’s litter and threw it in the air. After a while, Cora rose, and stretched her limbs, She turned and caught sight of Grace, waving a friendly hello. She made her way to Doyle’s small flat and sat on the low wall.

‘Coffee?’ asked Grace.

Cora shook her head. ‘No thank you my love. I’ll make some tea when I get back. Bodie will want some with his breakfast. How’s Ray?’ she asked, nodding towards the door.

Grace smiled. ‘He’s fine thanks.’ She seemed reluctant to continue. Cora gave her a quizzical look.

‘Is everything OK between you two?’

Grace nodded in assent. ‘I think so,’ she said finally. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision gate crashing his holiday. He’s been so quiet and ill at ease recently, but I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.’

Cora laughed gently. ‘They’re as bad as each other when it comes to relationships,’ she said. ‘Bodie tries to think for me, usually with disastrous consquences. Ray is more cerebral. He overthinks things a lot of the time... but I do know he’s wrestled with his feelings for you.’

Grace looked up, troubled. ‘He never said.’

‘Oh he won’t, not that one,’ replied Cora. ‘I’ve known them both for a while. Bodie is like a child in a sweetshop. Too much of everything until he’s sick but always returns to his favourites. Ray is quieter... deeper. All that time in hospital thinking about you... his feelings for you... whether he’d risk another relationship...’ She pulled her shawl tighter round her shoulders.

‘Cora, I love him,’ Grace said with a simple finality. ‘Even all those months ago when we first met I knew he was different. He worries that the job will come between us...’ she tilted her chin defiantly. ‘... it won’t, because I won’t let it. I’ve had good teachers for that. I watched how my mum and dad worked through their fears and worries when dad was posted... he was in the SAS and was sent to some pretty awful places.He never spoke about the dangers, only when he’d be back.’

Cora saw the strength behind Grace’s words. This one is a keeper, Raymond, she thought, thank your lucky stars she found you. 

‘... and I don’t think he realises how ill he was from the Weil’s Disease either. He insisted on going back to light duties... but even those were hard for him... I said he wasn’t well enough, but he had to prove something to someone... no idea who... he should have had at least two more weeks off work...he simply wasn’t ready. Now he needs complete rest, no stress and some decent nutrition,’ Grace coloured slightly. ‘Sorry for the rant,’ she mumbled, ‘I’ve got my doctor’s hat on again.’

Cora stood up abruptly and hugged the other woman. ‘He loves you, you know. Everything he’s done is to prove he’s able to take care of what means the most to him. He’s failed before and this time he’s just trying to see how it all fits.’ She turned to go. In the distance Bodie waved from the door of their accommodation, hair tousled from sleep. 

Grace was amazed to see the change in Cora, the softening of expression and the happiness in seeing her man almost tangible. She watched as the tall woman walked back to her lodgings, opening her arms to enfold Bodie as she drew level with him. He let himself be drawn close to her, his hand tilting her chin so he could kiss her. Grace watched, aware that for them, the world existed in a small flat in the Isle of Wight.

The morning warmed up and the sun won its battle with the overnight chill. Grace returned to the flat, peeking at Doyle who was still sleeping. He looked more relaxed than she had seen him for weeks. She made her way to the kitchen area, trying to keep any noise to the minimum. While the kettle boiled she looked out of the large window. There were a few more people around now, some braving the choppy sea to try the relatively new sport of windsurfing. A family strolled towards Norton, the children laughing and running ahead. On the old wooden quay, two children were crab fishing. The dog walkers she’d seen earlier were outside the cafe, the animals lying at their feet, tired after a long run.

Grace was so engrossed in the minutiae of the day, she didn’t hear Doyle as he got up. It wasn’t until two strong arms encircled her waist she realised he was awake.

He stood holding her, saying nothing, with his chin resting on her shoulder. His hair tickled her ear and she breathed in the faint aroma of sandalwood on his skin.

His hand moved upwards and began caressing her breast. He nuzzled the back of her neck. Grace felt as though her legs had turned to jelly. She followed obediently as Doyle led her away from the window and back to bed.

He lifted his sweater over her head and threw it on the floor. She kicked her shorts across the room, as Doyle pushed her gently backwards. She reached up for him, eager to feel him, his weight and his warmth. He began kissing her, deeply and slowly, his tongue exploring her mouth as if it were new territory for him. They lay there kissing and cuddling for some time, before Doyle slowly and gently entered her. He had still not uttered a sound, as if this was a whole new experience too profound for him to spoil with words.

His hands caressed her breasts, her lips and her shoulders. Grace lay underneath him, feeling him moving rhythmically and powerfully in her. She tugged gently on his nipples, delighting in the gentle rasp of his chest hair on her body. She locked her legs around his hips, drawing him deeper into her body. She gave a small gasp and chewed on her bottom lip as Doyle thrust into her.

Grace felt herself losing all track of time and reason, as Doyle continued to make love to her. Dimly she became aware of his breathing and the small moans that escaped from him. The urgency increased and Grace began to thrust upwards against Doyle’s hips. She held him so tightly it was if their bodies would meld into one. She could hear herself whispering to him, urging him on, comforting him.

Doyle was on another plane altogether. He could only focus on the woman underneath him, her violet eyes searching his face and her arms and legs wrapped around him. He felt as if his nerve endings were on fire, sparking and jolting his body. He returned to her mouth, surprised when Grace took the initiative, teasing her tongue between his lips.  
The heat from his groin grew until at last he climaxed, sensing again Grace reaching her own orgasm beneath him. 

In the calm that followed, Doyle could feel his heart thumping like a trip hammer. He gently disentangled himself from Grace and rolled onto his back. She propped herself on her elbow and stared at Doyle.

‘Wow!’  
‘Good or bad wow?’ she asked.

Doyle’s face split into a huge grin. He pulled her towards him and snuck his arms around her.

‘A good wow... a great wow!’ He nuzzled her neck and gently nibbled her ear lobe.

‘Ray Doyle, slow down. You’re supposed to be resting and recuperating.’

Doyle fell back on the pillow, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

‘Mmm, I suppose I am,’ he said. 

Grace wriggled herself under his armpit and idly stroked his chest.

‘Mind you, if you were to just lay back and think of England...’

‘Technically I’d still be resting wouldn’t I?’ he said, picking up on her humour.

‘True, but I’d have to test your resting heart rate before you attempt anything like that again.’

Doyle gave a deep throated cackle.

They slept again until late afternoon. Doyle was the first to stir, noting the day had lost its warmth. He showered and shaved, feeling far better than he had thought possible. Grace joined him the bathroom and they both spruced themselves up. Doyle realised how hungry he was, yet the thought of venturing out to eat seemed unappealing. All he wanted to do was curl up with Grace and be with her. Nothing else mattered.

While she dressed, he ventured outside onto the beach, almost deserted in the early evening. The cafe was closing and there were a few lights on in the other holiday lets. The harbour at Lymington was brightly illuminated in the clear evening air, ferries still departing for the island. Doyle stood watching the tide as it rolled in and out ceaselessly. A piece of seaweed flew past his head and he turned to see Bodie standing behind him, laughing silently.

‘You came over then?’ Doyle said.

Bodie wandered up to his friend. ‘Someone had to bring the distressed damsel to wake Sleeping Beauty out of his stupor,’ he replied. ‘She got back from Milan earlier than she thought and couldn’t find you. Rang me. I always help distressed damsels, so I suggested she come to you... well actually Cora suggested it... but I agreed with her. Anyway, I had to pick the lock on your door!’

Doyle clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘Bastard! Anyway, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t interfere in my love life?’

Bodie narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Doyle.

‘I had to, mate. Since she showed up again you’ve been a mess. Don’t look at me like that either,’ he said as Doyle clenched his jaw, searching for an angry retort. 

‘Grace was desperate to find you. She’d been to your flat, then called the office. Cowley wasn’t happy but told her to call me. I could tell by her voice when she phoned just how much you meant to her.’ Bodie’s face broke into one of his cheeky grins; Doyle was forced to return it despite himself.

‘Heaven knows what she sees in a skinny, badly dressed little specimen like you.’ Bodie carried on, swept away by a feeling he couldn’t explain.

‘You need her Ray, more than you know. Put the twinkle back in your eye too, hasn’t she?’

Doyle felt himself flush. The response didn’t go unnoticed by Bodie, relentless in his teasing of Doyle. ‘Yeah that one...’

Doyle went to speak, but Bodie was in full flow. This conversation had unearthed things he’d kept hidden for a long time. He put his hand up to forestall any interruption by his partner.

‘Anyway, you stuck your nose in my lovelife a while back.’ He held up his hand to stop the denial that was about to trip off Doyle’s lips. ‘At the time I could have happily have knocked your head off. I’d reached the most difficult decision in my life and you thought you knew better.’ He stopped suddenly: the pause made Doyle take a sideways glance at his partner.

Bodie wore a strange expression – a mixture of remembered pain, relief and thoughtfulness. He began again, his voice noticeably thicker with an emotion he rarely showed.

‘I owed you this, Ray. Cora and I both owed you to be honest. I know she thanked you that night, but I never did.’ He scuffed the small pebbles at his feet and stared across the sea to the mainland. ‘Anyway, Grace is different to the others... she’s the other half to you.’

Doyle stared out to sea. ‘Yeah she is,’ he replied. He turned to face his partner. Bodie shrugged his shoulders and looked at the other man. Both of them were aware of the honesty of their words to each other. 

‘I’m going in. I’m hungry and it’s getting a bit nippy out here,’ said Doyle after a short silence.

‘Cora and I are going to take a walk into Yarmouth. There’s a great little French restaurant by the pier. Coming?’

Doyle shook his head. ‘No thanks. We’ll get a takeaway.’

Bodie shook his head and hid a broad smile. 

Doyle watched as his friend sauntered off towards his accommodation. He saw Cora came out and link arms with Bodie. She looked over her shoulder and blew Doyle a kiss, which he reciprocated before heading back to his own flat.

He stood outside the large patio doors for a while, breathing deeply, gathering his thoughts. It should be so easy he thought, it’s what I want. I know it’ll be different this time... with her...

He looked inside, and saw Grace, busying herself wiping up some mugs, folding the tea towel over the rail and switching on some lights. Tall and leggy, her long hair swinging carelessly as she bent down to pick up some shoes. She looked beautiful.

Doyle pushed open the doors and walked in, striding over to Grace and catching her by the waist. He spun her around and stared long and hard at her. He pulled her towards the sofa, and they both collapsed in an untidy heap.

‘Ray?’

‘I need to tell you something, and I’m not sure I can.’ He pulled at his shirt, as if the garment was too restricting for him.’ Grace saw how he was wrestling with some interior problem. He looked ill at ease and, she thought, almost frightened. She put a hand on his arm.

‘Sometimes Ray its just best to say it quickly before you lose your nerve.’

Doyle sat bolt upright, doing a good impression of a rabbit caught in headlights. Grace thought she had never seen him look so unnerved. 

He took her hand and softly stroked the back of her palm.

‘I love you Grace, more than I ever thought possible. And I’m scared. Scared I’ll let you down, scared you’ll grow to hate the interrupted nights, the times when I’m working and I can’t call you. Scared you’ll end up wishing you had more than I can give...’

Grace put her finger on his lips, stopping him in mid sentence. She took in the forest green eyes, still bruised through lack of sleep, the long hair, its weight pulling the curls out, and the oddly shaped face.

‘Ray, I’m more scared you’ll leave me. The first time I saw you, you took my breath away and I knew you would be everything I ever wanted.’ She continued. ‘I know about your job, its insecurities and its dangers but I also know for certain that you’ll do everything you can to minimise the effect it could have on us.’

Doyle listened to her speak, the strength of feeling in her voice washing over him in waves. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, as she leaned into him.

‘We can make make things work for us,’ she said. ‘We’re not going into this wearing rose coloured spectacles. I know what you do, and I’d never ask you to stop until you want to. I’ll always be there for you, Ray.’

Doyle was lost for words. Never had anyone been so painfully honest with him, taking him as he was, warts and all, not wanting to change him at all.

He was brought back to the present by Grace pulling on his arm. He looked at her questioningly.

‘If we’re going to start life together, you need to be guided by your doctor. First, a decent meal... pass that takeaway menu by the phone,’ she looked at him with pure mischief in her eyes, ‘ and then another early night I think.’


End file.
